Les étoiles dansaient dans tes yeux
by sierrafoxtrot
Summary: Written for the 50 Art of Words Challenge. 50 prompts, one pairing, 50 drabbles. Prompt eleven: Puddles. Contains alcohol, so rating upped to T. Please Review! *begs shamelessly*
1. Midnight

**Les étoiles dansaient dans tes yeux**

_**A/N: Written for the 50 art of words challenge- my pairing: Colin/Demelza. You basically have fifty prompts, and you write one drabble for each one. I'm going to alternate first, second, third person, maybe from someone else's point of view- I dunno.**_

_**First prompt: Midnight. This is kinda the prologue for the whole thing so... Yeah.**_

_**The title means: The stars danced in your eyes.**_

**Midnight**

**2****nd**** May 2079**

The sky turns blue slowly. You watch it from beginning to end, how the first tinge of blue appeared on the horizon. It then merges into a slightly darker blue that spreads, like when you put a droplet of ink on a piece of damp parchment. It unfolds before you like the unfurling of giant wings, and you smile, wrinkles creasing. The sky turns a royal blue.

Soon, stars pop out and you tilt your head back to look at them. You remember someone

(him)

teaching you the names of the constellations. The world drapes its quiet around you and you drink it in. It covers you in dark blue wings and you shut your eyes.

When you open them you are confronted by an expanse of black, except it isn't black, just a very very dark blue.

The stars dot like diamonds and they twinkle at you, and they seem to be getting further and further away.

And they he's there. Why is he here? You try to think, but you can't quite bring yourself to care.

And then you are on your feet, and your hair brushes the base of your waist in brown curls for the first time in twenty years, and you are dancing with him

(namename whatwashis name?)

in the stars.

And it's midnight, and then-

you dance into the stars with him for the last time.


	2. Unicorn

**Les étoiles dansaient dans tes yeux**

_**A/N: Ah ha, I can so imagine someone having this kind of gossip- I know we do at my school... **__**Silly and fun for once. Prompt no 2:**_

**Unicorn**

**February 1994- third year**

Demelza ran up to him after charms and bumped him with her hip.

"I have gossip," she said brightly, "currently doing the rounds of the different common room."

Colin grinned at her. "Why would I be interested?"

"Fine then," said Demelza, flouncing off in an exaggerated way, with a glance over her shoulder to check he was still following.

(He'd always follow)

"I won't tell you."

"Oh, for-" he rolled his eyes and ran to catch up with her, grabbed her wrists, made her turn. "Fine. Tell me."

"Morag's a unicorn." At his blank face of confusion, she giggled. "Morag MacDougal, year above, Ravenclaw..."

"Oh, her!" he said, then his brows creased. "I'm sure I took a picture of her once, and she wasn't a unicorn then. Nice lines in her face, broad shoulders."

"No, not literally!" she laughed. "A unicorn...unicorns prefer girls to boys...it's a euphemism."

A light of understanding dawned in his eyes, but he kept his face confused. "I don't get it."

"She chases for the other team."

"Morag plays beater."

"Um...she stirs her cauldron in the opposite direction?"

"She does? Why would that interest anyone?" he was finding it difficult to keep a straight face now, she was looking so frustrated,

"Ah!" Demelza finally said, throwing her hands up in disgust. "You're being deliberately obtuse and difficult."

"Correct."

"Remind me why I'm friends with you, again?" she slapped him gently on the arm, and he threw his casually over her shoulders.

"Because I'm dreadfully dashing, innocent and charming."

Demelza rolled her eyes at him scathingly. "Sure you are. Where's Harry, anyway?"

Colin gave a signal which was certainly not dashing, innocent or charming.


	3. Hopeless

**Hopeless**

**June 1997**

"Crap! I can't do this!"

He paces back and forth across the dorm and Jack lounges on the bed, one eyebrow raised. Colin's hair is sticking out at all angles from running his hand through it, and he sighs. Jack wonders absently if he's just imagining the slight furrow in the floorboard where his friend has been pacing relentlessly.

"Cool it." he says confidently, rolling his eyes. "Demmy _likes_ you. Just...go up to her, and ask her out. _And then maybe we can all get some peace._" he adds in an undertone, and Jimmy Peakes snorts from the adjacent bed.

"Look," says Jack, as Colin looks about ready to tear his hair out, "Just bloody ask her."

The other boy finally glances up at his friend, and he skids to a halt in the middle of the room. "Demelza Robins," he says quietly, "can discuss the political ramifications of the Ministry's refusal to accept You-Know-Who's return and their subsequent acknowledgement, come up with great Quidditch tactics and do her eyeliner _all at the same time_!"

"That's true," nods Jimmy, and Jack shoots him a _not helping_ look.

"Look..." Jack tries again, but Colin plonks himself down at the end of his bed with finality.

"It's hopeless."

Jimmy attempts some encouragement, but the door swings open suddenly, making them all sit up straight. It's little Dennis Creevey, and his face is white and tear streaked.

"Colin!" he cries, and Colin is over in a moment, the other two boys hastily following behind him as the two brothers race down the stairs. Jack neglects to pick up a shirt, something he will regret later when Romilda Vane laughs at him. His mind is, however, more occupied by the hexes and jinxes flying in all directions, and he sees two cloaked figures run down the corridor.

Colin's stomach drops to somewhere above his laces, and he shoves Dennis back to the portrait hole with a shouted: "Go!"

Then his wand has flicked into his hand with more ease than he previously thought possible and he is duelling some tall guy he doesn't recognise and he backs up to the wall and his mind is racing. What the hell is going on?

And when the Death Eater is finally stunned, the three boys sprint to the front doors.

And there is a crowd at the bottom, and Jack feels cold, and Jimmy is nursing a sprained wrist.

And the world opens up before them as they see who is lying at the bottom, and everything seems so much more hopeless than before.


	4. Cake

**Les étoiles dansaient dans tes yeux**

_**A/N: Random, I know, but I was in the mood for something silly.**_

**Cake**

**December 1997**

"You're kidding, right?" he asks me, and I roll my eyes.

"Why'd I invite you again?" I ask. "I'd rather go with Amycus Carrow."

"Liar."

The wedding's in full swing around us, and it's warm inside the pavilion, even though snow's covering the ground outside. I've invited Colin to my sister's wedding, for a lack of a better partner, and I'm regretting it immensely.

"Fine," I admit, waving my hand (and champagne glass) dismissively, "that was a bit harsh. However,"

I'm cut off mid-flow by my mother, who sails into our conversation with admirable calm, and begins to talk to me at a mile a minute.

"Oh, Demelza, darling, is this your boyfriend? Gosh, you do have nice taste. Now, darling, pose for a photo-"

Click! Flash!

"-and the ceremony's going to start. Oh, Merlin, my baby's getting married!"

I shoot an apologetic look at Colin (who is, by the way, looking _absolutely_ smashing in dark blue robes- not that I notice these things) and grab his hand as mother tootles of, still chattering cheerfully. We weave through the pavilion and the many relatives, drunk uncles and cousins who I don't recognise. My one nice cousin, Sharon, sends me an approving wink and mouths _nice arse_, whilst staring pointedly at Colin.

I snort into my champagne glass.

Finally I drop Colin in his seat next to my father, who sends him a threatening glare. He holds my wrist and gives me a pleading look.

"Don't leave me!" he says, and I smile. (I enjoy being evil). I plant a quick peck on his lips (my father scowls).

"Be back soon. Be good."

I waggle my eyebrows for added effect, and Colin winks. My father looks as though he's going through cardiac arrest.

I slip into the house, and find my sister Abigail, Sharon (the aforementioned lovely cousin) and my mother fussing in the entrance hall. Abby seems as though she's going to pass out, and Sharon scuttles over to me by the door.

"Having fun?"

"Merlin!" she exclaims, throwing her hands up in frustration, "Save me!"

I giggle.

"By the way..." she trails off, raises an eyebrow. I look innocent, and she huffs. "How much did you pay him?" she enquires, and I scowl.

"Absolutely nothing." I sweep off towards by sister, but throw a glance over my shoulder at her. "And he's mine!" I finish triumphantly.

Evidently I didn't realise that after weddings come dancing.

Now let me make one thing clear.

Demelza Robins does not slow dance. Period.

However, she can possibly slow dance if under coercion from her (delicious) boyfriend. So I do.

"Ouch." mutters said boyfriend, as I step on his toes for the _n_th time.

I kiss him, because I need an excuse to.

He tastes like wedding cake, and caramel, and something so Colin it's intoxicating, and I don't register the flash of the camera until it's too late, and by then we've stopped dancing, and everything's mmcolin andweddingcake andcamera andgoawaymum and

Oops. Everyone watching. Breathing hard. Loosen fingers from blond hair, embarrassed giggle, lead away from crowd, well done Demelza, spectacularly embarrass yourself as usual and-

But, you know, I _knew_ there was a reason there was a lock on my bedroom door...


	5. Friends

_Disclaimer that I forgot about: I don't own Harry Potter. Please don't sue me. Cheers._

_**A/N: I'm not even kidding, this is ridiculous. I've posted five chapters in two days.**_

**Friends**

**October 1996**

You shake your head, and your curls spread over the back of the couch. The common room is warm and you stretch your arms above your head and sigh as your joints crack.

"How did your date go, then?" you ask him, and you wiggle your eyebrows. "Get lucky?"

He rolls his blue eyes and snorts, but there is a faint blush over his cheekbones, and you know him well enough to know he's feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Nope. One kiss, that's it. You?"

You exhale noisily, and he chuckles. "That bad? Oh, poor Demmy."

"We're pathetic."

"I prefer 'selective'." he grins.

"Sure, whatever you say." You wave your hand, and the bracelet on your wrist catches the light and sends a stream of it over his face. You swing your feet onto his lap and he tickles the bottom of them.

Jack Sloper perches on the arm of Colin's chair and begs him for his Potions essay. Jimmy Peakes enthuses about his newest girlfriend. Romilda Vane chatters about her latest date. And you look at each other and enjoy being friends.

You don't realise that he wants more.


	6. Burn

**Burn**

Demelza throws her hair back and straightens her shoulders. She fixes the professor with a look that pinned her to the blackboard, and asks her, with perfect seriousness, if _she_ had ever been kissed. Because it wasn't exactly the sort of thing you could just _stop_ when asked, really.

She's pleased when the Carrow snaps. It had seemed as though she was one of the only ones left in the DA who hadn't been crucioed yet, and so she feels almost proud of herself that she's managed to provoke the Death Eater at last. Plus, it seems like a good reason to go down, kissing Colin.

The curse, though, that's something else. It burns along veins like desire turned bad, makes you scream. At first, she stays silent. It's almost easy, but then she feels the Carrow get more and more angry, and the pain becomes more concentrated, and in the end she breaks.

Demelza, in the few minutes of respite, can truly appreciate her life. Because the pain runs off like cool water disappearing down a plughole. The fire is quenched.

Then he screams.

It burns, far more than anything she has ever experienced, and it sounds so different that for the first time she grasps the alteration between man and child, how the cries that come from his mouth are deeper than she thought possible, and she almost curls into a ball and hides her face from the world.

It is how she feels quite often that year.

But then Carrow stops and so does he, although the air is still sodden with sorrow and screams and despair. And they share a glance, and his blue eyes are still as bright as ever, and she grins in the dank dungeon.

The burn the second time is nearly worth it, for the look on Alecto Carrow's face when Demelza kisses Colin right in front of her.


	7. Rebellion

_**A/N: Haven't properly read this through, so it might not make sense… :) Prompt seven:**_

**Rebellion**

Doc Martens weren't much of a rebellion, except that it said specifically on the rules that you were not allowed to wear boots. Most teachers just rolled their eyes and pretended not to notice.

Not so Dolores Umbridge.

Now, Demelza knew that it was petty, and yet she also knew that Colin was in something that he wasn't telling her, not to mention the fact that most people in her year had stood up to the Toady One except her.

She returned to her common room after the detention. The back of her hand was stinging like hell, and Colin said nothing apart from telling to get some murtlap on it, which she did. In a selfish sort of way, she was quite pleased that her handwriting was so neat; it curled across the back of her hand in a necklace of beaded blood organised into aesthetic swirls and loops.

_I will do as I am told._

"God damn it, Demmy!" he said finally, and she was pleased that she'd finally coaxed a reaction from him. "It's fine for me to do it, but you!"

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she countered defensively.

"Look." He leaned forward on his haunches and cupped her hands in his, his gaze surprisingly piercing for someone usually so upbeat and gushing. "You've got to stay safe. I'm doing something about it, so you just keep your head down."

She got up and paced between the seats. A few heads flickered up around the room, but because it was so late they just settled back down, trying to get that last homework done before the next day. Colin sighed in defeat. "Go on, then. Why'd she torture you?"

Later, two years later, rebellion was much higher. And yet she did not long for the days when wearing Doc Martens to [Defence Against the] Dark Arts class would result in a painful evening with a pink dressed crone, rather than an excruciating night with a confirmed and unashamed Death Eater. Because rebellion fought away the hopelessness in people's eyes and pushed away the darkness that constantly gathered at the back of people's minds.

And this time she joined the rebellion.


	8. Sunbathe

**A.N: POV a bit strange- imagine it's the reader. I know, strange. It might not work- tell me what you think (Please!)**

**Sunbathe**

In the last week of the summer term, in 1996, the entire Gryffindor fourth year lay in a row, looking up in the sky.

Now pause the scene, and look along the line. First we have Colin Creevey, tall and blond haired, his blue eyes closed, his expression calm (for once). Next to him is his school satchel, and inside it is a camera. [and three feet from this spot he fell in a blaze of green light and a fluttering of lost dreams and pictures never to be taken]. With her knees propped up and pointing to the clouds, Demmy Robins has her arm thrown across her forehead, shading her eyes. Her shirt button is undone and her tie is being used to hold her brown unruly curls from her face, and she looks peaceful. [and she survived and was happy, but inside the castle her fingers were ripped off, and her heart was broken].

Move along, and Jack Sloper leans on his hands with his red head raised, catching the last of the sun's rays. He is an ordinary boy with a gentle disposition outwardly, but his friends know that he has one of the dirtiest mouths in their house [caught at wandpoint by Travers, his beaters build did nothing to stop him being blasted apart]. Next to him, Margerité Washington watches him hopefully, but he is blissfully oblivious. Her hair is blond and ruffled by the wind; she has one pale hand pressed against her forehead and one outstretched [she is found in the same position one dark night in London, returning to fight for her old school from Beauxbatons and murdered in an alleyway by Macnair]

On her right, Carlotta Vane, the dusky beauty, lies on her stomach, nose in a book. Although this could seem unusual to many people, her friends know that she enjoys reading (she's nicknamed the Claw). Her brown hair falls into her eyes and she pushes it away impatiently [and she cuts that hair all off in a fit of rebellion in August 1998, and she runs to Africa, and she has scars that mar that perfect face, and scars that mar that perfect mind].

The two children at the end could not be more different. The first is a girl well known to the corridors of Hogwarts, a shortish beauty with freckles sprinkled across her nose and hair like flames and her knees pulled up under her chin. Ginny Weasley watches the lake [and two years later she survives and wonders if it was worth the cost].

Finally, Jimmy Peakes watches her. He is always watching her. Tall and dark headed; the Casanova, Lothario, womanizer- the epitome of tall, dark and handsome- leans gracefully against a tree and, as the scene unfreezes, rakes his grey eyes over the grounds. They linger on some girl or another and he ruffles his hair, practices his grin. And yet, his eyes are drawn to her [and they always were, until he sees Carlotta fall, with hair spilling like ink, and he runs to her first, and he never gets there].

And in a way that creeps up on them, the line dwindles, first Margerité leaves for France, Ginny stops hanging around with them, she goes into hiding, then Margerité is killed, then ColinJackJimmy, and the three girls are left on their own.

And the afternoon where they lay in the sun was the last time, and they look back on that with warmth.

**A/N: Woah. That ran away with me. This kind of turned out to be a character study (sorry), but I wanted to put down these characters that have been living in my head for a while :) **

**In canon Jimmy is in fact not in Ginny's year but he kind of ended up there…plus his character seems to have a life of its own. (where did the love triangle come from?)**

**Carlotta is, in fact, the elder sister of Romilda Vane.**

**Next Chapter: A cameo from a vaguely drunk Michael Corner.**

**Please review! *unashamed begging ensues***


	9. Drink

**Drink**

The pub was fairly dingy; not the sort of place many people would want to be seen. This was, of course, what made it so popular. Although many patrons of this specific institute were avoiding company of the legal kind, it had recently become a haven for people trying to keep out of the public view. Namely one particular gang of teenagers, teetering on the verge of adulthood and suddenly thrust into the limelight.

One cold January evening a man waited at a table in the corner. He arrived and he swiftly ordered a firewhisky, shrugging off his coat and putting his feet casually up on the table. His legs were long and his shoulders broad and, despite the leanness of his silhouette, the way he carried his wand with complete confidence and the air that suggests super quick reflexes prevented any of the wrong sort of trouble. His wand hand twitched though; he acted like a man balancing on the verge of the abyss, desperate for a good fight.

Finally his drink arrived, and he ran his eyes over the waitress, making her twitter. He was very handsome, with classical features, scruffy, shoulder length dark hair and deep brown eyes that seemed fathomless. The firewhisky warmed him and the tense lines of his shoulders relaxed.

He watched the door like a hawk.

Eventually it creaked open and a woman came in. Her heels clicked on the dirty wooden floorboards and the other customers followed her with interest. She was not the kind of woman they saw often- hair conditioned and smooth in ringlets, fingernails manicured and shirt crisp. She slumped in the chair opposite the man, and the astonished drinkers noticed (if they were sober enough to observe) that the pinkie and ring finger on her left hand were missing. They lost interest- after all, most young people had some limb missing.

"I'm sorry, Mike," she said quietly, dumping her briefcase down and undoing the top button of her shirt with a sigh, "I couldn't get away."

"'s fine." He smiled. "Drink?"

"Merlin, yes please." She sighed. "You know, they all want interviews! Still! It's the second anniversary, for Merlin's sake, haven't they wrung it out from us yet?" she shook her head, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. "I hate reporters."

"You are a reporter, Demmy," Mike pointed out, raising a hand to catch the attention of the waitress. "Firewhisky?"

"On the rocks."

They laughed. His was low and rough, and hers trickled like water over ice, yet they merged pleasantly. He stretched his arms over his head in a way that made him look very much like a cat. When their drinks arrived (and she realised that this was, in fact, his second) he looked at her gravely over the top of his, eyes piercing.

"To the dead." He said seriously, raising his glass.

"Mike, that's so morbid." She reprimanded, but she drank anyway.

000

Three more glasses later, and they were both pretty drunk.

"Do you remember…" Mike started to giggle and couldn't continue for a few seconds. He caught his breath and resumed. "Do you remember when Terry got ineb…inibr…pissed in the Room once…"

"And he broke your guitar!"

"'s lucky he was so good at spells…" said Mike darkly. "I love that guitar."

"Do you remember when you were playing it in the Room one meeting, and most people hadn't even known you played, and everyone was twittering round you-"

"The girls were twittering-" he corrected.

"Fine, the _girls_ were twittering. I thought Carlotta was going jump you there and then."

Michael grinned triumphantly, if a little lopsidedly. "M'dear, that was later."

"Slut." Demmy said casually, waving her drink. He winked.

"Well you know what they say, once you've been round _this_ Corner there's no going back."

Demmy sprayed her drink all over the table and began to choke. When she'd finally got her breath back she scowled up at him, eyes vaguely unfocused. "That…" she stated indignantly, "is one of the cheesiest things I've ever heard."

Mike raised his glass in a mock toast. "Terry's idea. Can't remember…" his face paled almost instantaneously, and his mouth opened slightly. "I can't remember. I can't remember when he said it to me. Oh Merlin…" he trailed off, and in panic Demmy searched her own memories. Colin kissed her, but was it before Halloween or after? And that time when Mike played the guitar, what was he playing. For that matter, why was he playing?

She wondered if it was just the drink, but her memories were cloudy, she couldn't quite picture the way Jimmy's hair fell into his eyes, or how Lavender's face looked without the scars.

"I need another firewhisky." She said firmly, looking at him. The expression on his face was one of devastation, and she chucked him under the chin. "It looks like you need one too, for that matter."


	10. Happiness

**Happiness**

You swan in in a swirl of red coat tails and untidy hair, blushing cheeks and melted snow. He is waiting for you, and for the first time in forever you are irritated at his seeming lack of interest in your life. He sits there, reading his history of magic textbook.

Honestly, how boring can you get?

"So then, aren't you going to ask me how it went?"

Your happiness flows off you in a wave that fills the room, inflates and suffocates. He'd not know you at all if he rose to it and true to that, he doesn't. He turns a page nonchalantly, and shakes his head. He looks up at you as you pull off your gloves. There is hardly anyone else in the common room; you're back early, everyone else is playing in the snow.

You spin around excitedly in the empty space between the desks, and he blows some blond fringe out of his face.

You laugh with delight. His lips tighten as he flips to the index.

You put your hands on the desk and propel yourself into the air, twisting, dancing, whirling. It takes you a while, but finally his silence inserts itself into your self-possessed balloon, and you look at him.

He sees the way your shoulders droop a bit, you seem to deflate, and he forces a smile, puts aside the book.

"Go on, then. How was it with Mr Crashing Bore?"

Even his cynicism cannot dent your mood, and you laugh cheerfully, his scepticism running off like water of a duck's feathers. "I think I'm in love!" you sing, and you grab his hands, pull him up and waltzing him around. A few first years look up at you with surprise in their eyes, but you're big bad fifth years, so they don't say anything. For a brief second there is pain on his face, but he joins in happily, and you think you must have imagined it. "In love!" you repeat, and he grins.

"Trust me, not much fun." He says quietly, so quietly you think you've misheard.


	11. Puddles

**Puddles**

_Dear Colin,_

You know that feeling you sometimes get, when you're lying in bed, just listening to the rain, and you want to jump out of bed, and jump in the puddles? Or, you know, maybe it's just me. I suppose you don't really get that, wherever you are. Not much rain, maybe.

Anyway, I felt like that tonight. It's a sort of reckless feeling, like nothing can touch you.

I got halfway from my bed when there was a creak downstairs, and I flew back to my covers like You-Know-Who himself was after me. Oh, yes, I survived the second of May, but one Doctor Who episode and I'm traumatised for life.

So, you must be thinking (I like to think that you can still, but maybe not), why is she writing to me. There's nothing wrong with me, in fact, I'm actually feeling great. Lee's amazing. Well, he's not you. But he's still not just second best, you know? If you were still alive I wouldn't be with him, but you're not, so I am.

It's Michael.

I just thought I'd throw that in with you, give you a bit of a shock.

You know how, in the early days (summer '98 and all that), I used to see a lot of Mike. Well, I still do see a lot of him, and he's drinking a lot more.

Like, loads.

I mean, I get it. When we went round together, I saw more of the underside of pub tables than I ever wanted to. But…well, I never really knew how much of it was grief for him, or something that was developing into a problem, which it obviously was.

Now, I don't want to worry you, (although I'll obviously never post this letter) he is fine. Or at least, he will be once he's got over the tongue-lashing Padma's gonna give him. Which she will. He kinda scared us, you see, Padma especially. You know how they were, and they still are like that-officially they're not together (I can hear you saying '_still_', and I know, right!) but she loves him, and he loves her, in his own way.

So she flooed me from St Mungos yesterday and told me that Michael had been taken in because he'd passed out earlier in the day and not come round.

Honestly, it was horrible, terrifying. That bastard.

He's been drinking a lot. We're talking half a bottle of whisky a night (the muggle sort, which is so much stronger, and half a bottle is a whole week's worth of units for men). As I'm sure you know, today's the third of May, which means I've survived five years without you, and Mike pretty much drunk himself into a stupor.

And he's not a big guy.

They managed to bring him round, and although I don't have much faith in Healers (not to mention Padma and Anthony), I have to say that they were pretty understanding, and kept the press out.

Can you imagine the headlines in the _Prophet_? **DA survivor drinks self unconscious- Healers struggle to revive him! **Or: **Are they as moved on as they seem: DA survivor in alcohol battle!**

Ugh.

So that's why I'm writing. Well, to say hi as well, of course. I haven't forgotten you, even if the letters are getting a bit infrequent.

Isn't moving on what I'm supposed to do?

_Love, Demmy x_

Three days later, the letter was taken out by the letter writer. She apparated to the middle of nowhere, a spot she only knew because it was near her grandparents lived.

The letter was torn into little pieces, and flung into the grasping hands of the wind. The fragments flew in all directions, the ink ran and smudged, they disintegrated.

The sliver of parchment with the letter writer's love flew into the sky.


End file.
